Dragoncrest Cliffs this battleground is deadly

the breeze is sticky with seabrine despite the fat snowflakes that drift lazily down from the opaque mid-morning sky. the air is heavy with the tang of salt that makes unatak's lips curl in what can only be described as distaste. below the drop off the cliffs the sea swell rages against the rockface, crashing and falling back like an endless war assault. he misses the dry, arid air, the bitter scent of evergreens, the sweet taste of maple and honeysuckle. he misses home, misses the sound of the wildboars as they moved in their droves and sounders to hunt and chase off unsuspecting loners that passed into razorback plains' claim.

overhead he hears the call of gulls as they fight the winter squall, sailing on the air currents but not appearing to actually gain any ground. the sound of the sea drowns out much and unatak veers away from the cliffside then, seeking what lay in the heart of the territory; likely, though, he knows he'll be going further inland yet. he isn't particularly moved by the coast and wants to go towards the heartlands where territories may be more familiar and closer to what he's left behind.